


Comfortable

by lady_illiya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:15:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_illiya/pseuds/lady_illiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gendry knew he would never be as comfortable with any girl the way he was with Arya, but he never knew how easy it was with her until he had to try with someone else. Gendry x Ayra, Gendry x Sansa/Alayne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Guys!! I’m back with another Arya x Gendry story. Also, I’m sorry, this one is a bit on the sad side. But, I hope you like it anyway and, of course, review!  
> The song is Comfortable by John Mayer, I know song lyrics in a lot of fics tend to be skipped (I skip them at least) but if you find yourself confused I’d read the lyrics, it might explain the time skips that happen in the story.  
> Rating: Teen for language and reference to sex

_I just remembered, that time at the market_  
 _snuck up behind me and jumped on my shopping cart_  
 _And rode down, aisle 5_  
 _you looked behind you to smile back at me_  
 _crashed into a rack full of magazines_  
 _they asked us if we could leave_.

It was an accidentally meeting, and apparently in Arya’s mind, meeting your brother’s friend twice now constitutes a friendship. He was at the corner store getting grocery’s and she appears seemingly out of nowhere at his side, rattling on about the new puppies her and her brothers just got.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he just stays silent, pushing his cart and grabbing his items along the way. It wasn’t until he realized that she was also tossing things willy nilly into his cart that he turned to her. “What are you doing?”

Her eyebrow rises, “Shopping, of course, stupid.” Queue eye roll.

“Well, yes, but-“

“Why should I push a cart around when I can just share yours? Or can you not handle the big heavy cart all by yourself.” She teased him, shoving him sideways and taking the cart down the aisle at a trot, he deftly avoided knocking items off the shelf and went after her. She looked back, saw him pursuing, and with a shout and a smile she was off, feet flying as she pushed the full cart along. He was gaining on her when she chanced a look back, and the cart veered, and ran straight into the shelves, with her along with it. His momentum was too high and he couldn’t stop in time, he toppled over the various items strewn across and threw his arms out, bracing for impact.

His hands hit the tile but the rest of him did not. His eyes opened and he found himself staring into surprised pools of grey.

He started to press himself upwards, to get off of her when her hand reached up to touch his arm; he stared frozen as her face loomed closer to his. She used one hand to support her as she leaned up, her other hand sliding up his arm, across his shoulder and fisting in his hair. Her lips were pressing against his and he forgot he was on the floor in the middle of a grocery store aisle. He pressed down her, relishing in the feeling of her beneath him, tongue just about to swipe across her lips when they were discovered.

“Oi!! What are you two think you’re doing, destroying my store!” Startled, he jumped up, pulling Arya with him. “Get out! Now!” The store owner yelled at them, Ayra grabbed his hand and pulled him, laughing, out of the store.

He stood looking at her with a stupid grin for a second before she leaned in to kiss him again, and he knew right then and there he had fallen for her.

_Can't remember, what went wrong last September  
Though I'm sure that you'd remind me, if you had to_

“Damn it, Arya! You can’t seriously be going back there after what we just saw!” Gendry yelled, following her to the door as she grabbed her leather jacket from the hook and stuffed her feet into her ratty combat boots.

“How can you even ask that? Of course I’m going, they’re my family for Christ’s sake!”

“Arya, after what we just saw? I know they are your family! But I’m sure they would agree it’s not safe to go home right now! They just took your father into custody for the death of the president! Every person out there right now is gunning for anyone even remotely related to your family! No one knows you’re here,”- _with me-“_ you’re safe if you stay here.”

“And what?! You think I am just going to hide out here, and let them falsely accuse my dad of murder! What are his chances of surviving this, of even making it to trial! He’ll be dead the second he’s exposed to the public. You think I am just going to crawl under a blanket with you and pretend this isn’t happening? My family needs me right now! Mother’s been a wreck ever since Bran’s accident, Sansa’s apparently nowhere to be found, Robb needs me by his side to stand strong against this attack on our family!” She jerked her jacket on, reaching for her keys, angry tears forming in her eyes.

He grabbed her arm, trying to stop this; even though he knows it’s futile, knowing that he would not be nearly as in love with her is she didn’t have this fight in her. “Arya, please, just wait a bit, your mom will call you and tell you what to do. Just please, don’t go out there.” _Don’t leave me_.

Her eyes meet his, and he tries to memorize those grey depths, stare at them with all the love he feels for her, hoping to convince her to stop this madness. She moves her arm to shake him off, but he uses his strength and pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her lithe form, inhaling her as he imagines never letting her go.

He feels her arms surround him squeezing tight as she whispers, voice cracking, “I have to do this,” into his shirt. He releases her, and watching as she grabs her helmet and heads out the door.

He follows her silently, a weight settling in his gut, telling him if he lets her out of his sight, he might not see her again. She swings herself over her bike, and he pulls her into one desperate kiss before she hastily pulls her helmet on to cover her free flowing tears. He watches her ride away until she disappears.

_Our love was, comfortable and  
so broken in_

Gendry awoke with a start, with just enough time to throw his hands out before he hit the floor. “Oi! What was that for?” he exclaimed as he picked himself up into sitting position, leaning his chest against the bed and crossing his arms on the covers, glaring at her.

“Not my fault you sleep like the dead, I tried shaking you awake, but you just snored at me and slept on.”

He barked a laugh and smirked at her, “It is though! You wear me out too much my wild little wolf!”

She wiggled her eyebrows, crawling toward him on the bed, the sheet falling off her shoulders, pooling at her waist. He only caught a glimpse of her naked chest before she lowered to her stomach in front of him, resting her head on his crossed arms.

“Are you suggesting I stop sleeping with you, so you can wake up easier?” she laughed, “Stupid.”

He leaned in to capture her lips, but she allowed the contact for only a moment before pulling back and laughing. Smirking at him, she jumped off the bed, flashing the smooth curve between her legs before turning and skipping toward the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, “Well, you coming or not, you big bull?”

He did not hesitate as he pushed himself up, clambering over the bed in a hasty attempt to catch gorgeous women he had come to love.

Her grey eyes hypnotize him as he rocks into her until the water goes cold and they cry out each others’ names in passion.

_I sleep with this new girl I’m still getting used to_

Alayne gently pulled herself from his arms, trailing her fingertips down his arms as she slips from the bed. His eyes blink open and see her move gracefully to the attached bathroom. Sleep pulled him back and next time he woke it was to her touching his shoulder and leaning toward his ear.

“I got call into work honey, breakfast is on the counter,” she said and with a kiss to his temple she was out the door with a swish of her dress.

He rolls back over, and he finds himself wishing, not for the first time, that he woke up from a miniature heart attack due to an attack from the hundred pound animal sleeping next to him. Before he started getting used to Alayne, he would find himself jerking awake in the middle of the night anticipating that push, or kick from his pint sized partner-who, for the record, was much stronger then she looked. When it was Arya next to him, he knew if he wanted her to stop fidgeting and fall asleep already, he would have to wrap her in his arms tightly or throw an arm over her and force her to stay still. He would deal with her cold feet pressed between his legs, the sleepy shoves as she dreamed. He knew when he woke up in the middle of the night to take a piss she would be sleeping horizontally across the bed using his chest as a pillow.  He knew when he returned to bed she would seek out his warmth and end up sleeping on top of him.

Alayne was different, fragile, she required gentle touches, and woke up easily. She keeps to her side of the bed, likes to cuddle but only softly and sweetly. The first time he jolted awake with her in the bed, she reacted so violently, she ended up falling to the floor.

Maybe that was why he’s still going along with Alayne, she was sweet where Arya was crude, soft where she was rough. If they were anything alike, he would only be reminded of what he no longer had.

_my friends all approve, say she's gonna be good for you  
they throw me, high fives_

Sometimes when he would look at her bright blue eyes-the same shape as _hers_ \- he would see a flash of grey and force himself to remember that she was not _her_ and she was as far from _her_ as one could be. It was the strangest thing at times, a facial expression, a movement of the arm, and he would be back in the past, and then she would say something-always so polite, never crude or blunt- and he would come crashing back to reality. Cursing himself for seeing _her_ in Alayne, telling himself that given enough time he will adjust and stop seeing the similarities.  

When he and his friends head out to the bar, they all could not believe how he-the stupid bull-managed to get a lady like that. They exclaim how perfect she is, how he must be paying her to act as his girlfriend. Bets are placed on how soon she’ll come to her senses and dump his ass, and that they would each gladly step in to fill the void. As the liquor pours they joke about if the carpet matches the drapes, and if she was as fiery in bed as the copper that shines through her brunette hair. His buddies respond that she was a lady and probably liked it sweet as the songs-which wasn’t far from the truth, not that Gendry would share that tidbit.

Only Hot Pie pulls him to the side and speaks seriously, “Gendry, I know she’s no Arya, but I think she’ll be real good for you. I think she’s what you need right now, you can’t live in the past forever.”

_She says the bible is all that she reads_   
_and prefers that I not use profanity_   
_your mouth was, so dirty_

_His pint sized lover beamed up at him as she lowered herself down his chest, fingers toying with the buckle of his belt. He was powerless as she cupped him through his jeans, groaning at the feel of her long lost hand. She kissed just below his bellybutton, her breath leaving tingles across his chest- “Did you miss me Gendry?”_

“—Gendry?” He moaned in his sleep, her face starting to fade. “Gendry? Time to wake up sweetheart.” His eyes opened blearily, looking up at the face he should have been dreaming about.

“What the hell women, it’s Sunday, let me sleep in.”

“That’s right, it is Sunday, service starts in 30 minutes, you’ve got to get up or we’ll be late! And I better not hear that mouth of yours in Church.”

“If there was a God, then why do so many people fucking die??!”

His statement made her pause, hurt crossing her face before she slid her mask back in place. Her eyes still held pain while she responded, “Maybe God doesn’t exist to stop death, but to welcome those who have passed with open arms, those who need Him to guide them into the afterlife.”

She moves to wait in the living room then, and he has no response to that other than to get dressed and meet her.

When he sits in an overcrowded Church pew an hour later, his mind drifts to the last time he sat in a hall like this.  Jon had made sure he was on the list to be able to get into the service, he knew no one knew about his relationship with Arya, and he wanted to make sure Gendry could pay his respects. There was no viewing, as no bodies survived the explosion and its aftermath. Gendry was almost glad about this, he didn’t think he would be able to handle seeing her like that; all waxy and so lacking of life. Instead they had urns and pictures upon pictures behind them, Arya’s were all posed, with her fake smile; her standing in a dress; upon horseback; at tea with her sister; none of how he pictured her; dirt on her face with ripped jeans on.

He had sat in the back, and listened to people speak on those lost, people who claimed to know the family best, yet Arya had not spoken once on any of them. They started speaking about her, and Gendry could no longer stop the tears from flowing, could no longer deny that this is happening. He listened to what they’re saying and remembered how he almost laughed at how wrong they got her. He left the service shortly thereafter, preferring to remember her how she with him, over how those sycophants though she should have acted. He stayed just long enough to find out that while their bodies are unable to be put to rest with the rest of their family, they will have placeholders in their family mausoleum, for any who wish to visit.

He feels someone grab his hand and he starts, pulled back to the present, he hadn’t realized he was crying, Alayne was still looking ahead, but her hand rested comfortably on top of his.

She doesn’t ask him to come with her to Church again.

_Life of the party  
and she swears that she's artsy_

Hot Pie decided to throw a party celebrating his bakery’s grand opening. Gendry leans against the wall, wishing he wasn’t guilted into being here. He watches his date flit around the room like a little bird, twittering to all the guests, making them laugh. He watches as the men stare after her in desire as if they did not see how her smile falters from being fixed too long. He shrugs off the wall then, deciding that if he was going to be miserable, he may as well try to make it more bearable for her.

He slides into place next to her, saying her name before sliding his arm around her waist, knowing she would flinch if he had surprised her. She had found some other girls and was chatting about some project she found on some craft website. Her hands all a flutter describing something about wooden wine corks that he does not really understand, and swears he never saw her working on it. But, when she turns to him and asks “Didn’t it turn out so great, Gendry?” he responds with, “of course,” and jokes that the best part of that project was drinking the wine, and he is glad that the smile she sends him in thanks reaches her eyes.

He attempts to make an escape after he feels he’s made a solid attempt at socializing, but she grabs his hand last second, and the puppy dog eyes she sends him has him tailing after her as she makes her way around the room.

When the night is (finally) over, and they take their leave, he overhears people talking about how fun Alayne is, and how they hope she comes to the next get-together. When they are safely in the car on their way back to the apartment she lays a hand on his arm, and turns to him with a smile. “I’m so happy we were invited, it’s so nice to get out and meet new people, it was such fun.”

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, before looking back to the road, “Eh, it was ok, a bit too long for me, but they all loved you.” This received a soft laugh from her, and a squeeze of his arm.

“You would think it lasted too long, here’s a deal, next time we can cut out an hour early.” He knows he shouldn’t think any more of this statement than her trying to compromise with him, but he cannot help but think all she does is try and please people, and she was just trying to please him like she did those party guests.

_but you could distinguish  
Miles from Coltrane_

She sat cross legged on the floor, a pool of old albums she got from her dad splayed around her haphazardly. She claimed she was sorting them, but he had no idea what her system was.  He sat on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, looking at her with bemusement until she finally looked up.

“What?” She snapped, placing Pink Floyd’s _Wish You Were Here_ on a pile to her right. “What’s so funny?”

He leaned forward, placing his arms on his knees, and smiling, he said simply, “You.”

She bristled at that, placing her hands on her hips and looking absolutely ridiculous on the floor attempting to look intimidating. He couldn’t help but laugh. “And _why_ am I so funny?” she said incredulously.

“I just have absolutely no idea what you are doing.”

She huffed, “Sorting out my dad’s collection of course, I don’t know what order he was using but it made absolutely no sense!”

“And your system…is better?”

“Yes. Obviously!”

“Then what, pray tell, is this messy pile in the middle of my living room?”

“Organization!” she exclaimed, she waved her hand to the left, “This is the ‘really crappy music’” she started to move her hand along the arc of music in front of her, “and this is the mostly crappy music, and this over here is the good stuff!” He raised his brows but made no comment, sliding down to floor and reaching for an album to help her.

She smacked his hand before his fingers connected with the album cover, snatching it up before he had a chance to recover. “What was that for?”

“Gendry, you have awful taste in music! I don’t want you to ruining the order I’ve got going on here.”

He smirked, and grabbed another album before she could react and stated moving it to a pile only for her to lunge at him trying to get it back. He laughed, moving the album out of reach behind him, and having her attempt to scramble up him reaching, but unable to stretch her arms far enough. She was hovering over his lap, chest pressed to his with her arm extended along his when he wrapped his other arm around her waist, dropping the album on the couch and pulling her toward him, pressing his lips to hers.

She responds instantly, sinking onto his lap and grinding into his hardening flesh, tongue sneaking out for his. He flipped her onto her back and paused when he heard a crack, looking guilty until she laughs and pulls him toward her once more.

Later, when her father asks how some of his albums broke, she just laughs and said they weren’t the good ones anyway so why does it matter.

_Our love was, comfortable and_   
_so broken in_   
_she's perfect, so flawless_   
_or so they say, say_

He sees the scars that cross her back, he’s never asked her to tell him how they came to be there, and he knows she might not ever tell him. He just tries not to treat her like glass, because he knows it would make her upset even if she would say nothing. He knows she’s been through terrible things, and he knows that while those scars had faded, the memories would still be as strong as ever. The last thing she needs is to be reminded, it’s best if he just pretends not to see them.

So he learns, he picks up on her reactions and amends his actions as to not startle her or make her cringe. If she doesn’t see him, he always says her name before touching her, otherwise she jumps, moves away until she knows just who it is. When they are making love, he never grabs her wrists or attempts to pin her- _like a certain wolf girl liked_ -since it immediately frightened her and the mood was instantly lost. He changes the channel whenever the President or his family is on TV since he notices her eyes immediately leave the screen and she suddenly decides to make coffee or that she has to go to the restroom. He’s more than glad to do that for her, as he also has no desire to see those golden haired politicians who were only too happy to set up to the plate when the previous president was assassinated.

Once he knows her ticks, they start to get on a lot better, he thinks she realizes that he does care for her, and ultimately, would never harm a hair on her body.

_She thinks I can't see the smile that she's fakin'  
and poses for pictures that aren't being taken_

He meets her at the grocery store, lemon cakes were on sale, and he stood in front of the shelf fighting a breakdown at being reminded of _her_ favorite snack. He feels her glance at him, and before he can make an escape, she reaches out her hand and points to a cake on the middle shelf.

“That one is really good, if you’re having trouble deciding, it’s my favorite brand,” he turns to see her smile at him, a somewhat off smile, but a smile none the less. She lets out a tinkle of a laugh and says, “And I’m quite picky about my lemon cakes, they are my favorite after all.” She does a little head flip, and her copper brown hair flies in almost slow motion behind her shoulder.

She was so different from what he was used to that it really shouldn’t surprise him that they speak for so long, just standing in the aisle.

When she finally walks off with a laugh of ‘my ice cream is all melted!’ it takes him a moment before deciding to follow, and he surprises her, and himself, when he asks for her number.

She hesitates for a moment before a steely look crossed her face, almost as if she was working herself up to do something, and smiles, pulling a business card from her purse.

He stands there with it in his hands watching her walk off, and like a cliché romance film, she looks back at him, and her smile looks as big as the sun.

_I loved you  
grey sweat _ _pants, no makeup, so perfect_

He was gone for the weekend, and when he returns, it’s to find her curled up on the couch in his sweat pants, hair perched in a messy bun on top of her head, and no makeup on. She turns to him, smiles, and pats the cushion next to her. He pauses at the doorway, staring at this image in front of him, and knows he will never find this with anyone else. Because he loves this woman, with all of his being, yet he still doesn’t believe she is truly his to keep.

He joins her on the couch, grabs a blanket and she settles against him under it.

He curled under that blanket for weeks after, until he pressed his nose to it and it no longer smelled like her.

_Our love was, comfortable and  
so broken in_

He sits silently on the floor, back against the couch, unable to tear his eyes from the TV while at the same time wanting nothing more than to turn it off and forget what will forever be burned into his memory. He’s not sure if he can breathe, he doesn’t think his lungs are working right, they are sporadic and he realized belatedly that he is hyperventilating, tears pouring down his face. He is unable to tear his gaze away from the footage they keep replaying.

Fire is leaping up and emblazing what was left of the manse, the roof collapsed, debris surrounding the explosion as firefighters fight the blaze. The reporter is speaking over the footage, but Gendry could no longer hear what she was saying. His ears stopped working after he heard it the first time. An attack on the vice president’s family by some unknown citizens, in retaliation for his attack on the president. The whole family was reportedly present, save for their daughter, Sansa, who has been missing for several days. They flash to the scene outside the gates, and the people there are happy, the people who have been screaming for justice actually are happy by the deaths of innocents. One from the crowd yells “The blood of traitors are traitors too!” and Gendry can no longer watch.

He turns the TV off, and, using all of his energy, heaves himself to the couch, where he buries his face in the pillow and tries to block out the world.

Hot Pie finds him like this hours later, when he, finally fed up with Gendry not answering his phone, drives over and lets himself into the apartment. Hot Pie gets no response from him, try as he might; Gendry is a lifeless lump, refusing to move until finally Hot Pie physically drags him off the couch, the floor doing its job of making him respond.

He sits up slowly, looking at Hot Pie for the first time since he arrived, and moves to speak, but the words fail him. Hot Pie seems to understand though, and reaches out a hand and helps Gendry to his feet.

It was difficult, trying to keep living when his reason for living was gone. The only reason he kept on going was imagining her calling him stupid for even thinking about ending it.

There are reminders throughout his apartment, every time he crawls in bed and smells her pillow, her underwear still on the bathroom floor where she left it that morning, the mess she made in the living room. He can’t bring himself to pack up her things; he tried once, and spent all night just smelling her clothes, imagining her with him.

Eventually he manages to go through the day without thinking of her; he packs up the evidence of her and hides it in the back of his closet. He goes and sees his friends. He gets back into work. People that know him are happy he seems to be getting back to normal; they don’t need to know how often he falls asleep on the floor of his closet, clutching something he pulled out of that box. It kills him to pack it up the next morning, but he forces himself to, forces himself to keep going.

He tells himself it will get easier.

It doesn’t.

_she's perfect, so flawless  
I'm not impressed, I want you back._

It’s still dark when he gets up today, leaving Alayne to curl into herself for warmth under the blankets. He showers, puts on his only suit, and heads out. He almost stops for flowers, but walks by the store when the memory of the only flowers he bought her, wilted and brown because she forgot to water them pops into his head.

The sun is just over the horizon as he walks through the gate. Crossing the threshold of the Mausoleum, he follows the path he knows too well, stopping in front of the niche that was the burial site of Arya Stark.

He crumples to the floor, and runs his fingers across her name, the tears he keeps trapped inside marking paths down his face. He doesn’t want his perfect Alayne, he just wants to hold his wild little Arya in his arms one more time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Review!!


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